
' ^^uiislimi 



ii«5ip;||i^|PPPiPjf§|^^P^ 



TKe Island of Sunshine 

Verses by '* Tropica " 



LIBRARY of C0M-3RLSSJ 


Two Copies 


Keceived 


OlC 23 


1904 


Couyrieht hniry 


CUSS O. XXc. Noi 

COPY B. 

.. .-. 



,rA 



Copyright, 1904 

BY 

MARY O. WAI.COTT 



Ube Tknicf^crbocfjcr iprcss, ittcw ll)orfj 



*) 



f 



I know an island which the sun 

Stays in his course to shine upon 

As if it were for this green isle 

Alone he kept his fondest smile ! 

Long his beams delaying flood 

Its remotest solitude, 

Mountain, dell, and palmy wood ; 

And the coral sands around 

That hear the blue sea's chiming sound. 

Life is all entranced, and time 
Passes like a tinkling rhyme. 

. —Edmund Ci^arence Stedman. 



Illustrations 



PAGE 

Vmw ON THE North Coast i 



Photograph by Dr. Whitney 

Arch in an Oi.d Aqueduct 

Photograph by Dr. Whituey 



Road through "Fern Gui^ly " 

Photograph by J. W, C. Bretinau 



Bamboos 

Photograph by Duperly & Sons 



Donkey with Hampers . . .' 15 

Photograph by Dr. Whitney 

Road by Rio Cobre and Oi.d Spanish Bridge 17 

Photograph by Duperly & Sons 

Mrs. Palmer's Monument in the Parish Church at Montego Bay, 23 
Photograph by O. A. Isaacs 

Cotton Tree in Bearing 25 

Photograph by Dr. Whitney 



River in St. Mary . page 

Photograph by Dr. Whitnev '••••.. 27 



31 



GwMPSE OF A Banana Wai^k 

Photograph by Duperly & Sons ' ' ' ' 

Peep at the Rio Cobre 

Photograph by Duperly & Sons ''■•■• 33 

Naturai, Bridge 

Photograph by J. W. Cleary ' ■ • ■ • 37 

A Nana of the Past 

From an old Photograph " ' ' • • 39 

Fort at Robin's Bay 

Photograph by Dr. Whitney • • • • • . 45 

A " Fourteen-Hand " Bunch 

Phot6graph by Dr. Whitney ' " " ' ^^ 



THE ISLAND OF SUNSHINE 




Jamaica. 

O QUAINT old isle of hidden dreams! 
Thy lonel}^ paths, thy silent streams, 
Thy woods and ancient ruins hold 
Many a charming tale untold. 

Many a fairy picture lies 
Unnoticed 'neath thy tropic skies, 
Waiting for artist yet unborn 
To bring it from its haunts forlorn. 

Many a sweet song no one sings 

Sighs 'midst thy palms and crystal springs, 

Trying in vain, like voiceless bird. 

To make its strains of beauty heard. 



Indefinable. 

Thky ask what is the secret of the spell 

That draws me southward from their land of snow; 

I hear it calling like a far-off bell — 
But whence the glamour comes I do not know. 

As visionary as that tint of green — 

Pale sea-shade, seen in dawn and twilight skies; 
As undefined and dusk}^ as the light 

In woodland stretches, far from human eyes. 

How can I tell why morning bird-calls thrill 
The dreamer as he wakens from his sleep ? 

How do I know why dew-drops love to fill 
The jasmine blooms that o'er my terrace creep? 

Nay, rather ask me to explain the charm 

Of wind-blown palms — of leaves that shrink and close- 
The glimmer of the fire-flies in the grass — 

The opening beauty of a Southern rose. 



The Soul of the South. 

The Soul of the vSouth is a dancer 

Wreathed in a rainbow cloud, 
Swaying to fitful music 

Now dreamy, now soft, now loud; 
Turning and whirling — glancing 

A trembling star of night; 
With footlights ever changing — 

Now lurid, now dim, now bright. 

The Soul of the South is a mourner 

That silently stands and weeps; 
No sound can be heard of its sorrow — 

As still as a child that sleeps; 
Yet deep in the hush of the evening 

The flight of a falling leaf— 
The murmuring voice of the river — 

Something — who knows? — sighs "^Grief. 



The Soul of the South is a baby, 

A baby with roguish eyes; 
A baby that laughs like a sunbeam 

One moment — the next one, cries. 
With a garland of crimson blossoms 

Twined in its curly hair, 
It looks up and smiles in mischief, 

Knowing no thought of care. 



An Island Grove. 

The sun shone through the leaves, and made 
A dusky light, half-shine, half-shade; 
And in the dreamy atmosphere 
One felt that fairies might be near. 

A strange, hushed stillness filled the place, 
As if Time, charmed, had slowed his pace; 
A woodsy scent perfumed the air 
Of all the plants and wild-blooms there. 

Uneven paths, o'ergrown b}^ ferns. 
Wound idly, with fantastic turns; 
But no one knew to what retreat — 
The wood-elves kept that secret sweet. 

The trees grew wild, just as they willed. 
And mosses gray their branches filled; 
vSometimes I thought a face peeped d 
A tiny, mocking face, nut-brown. 



own- 




"Now Rank Weeds thy Broken Arches Fill" 

To an Old Aqueduct. 

In times long-past forgotten, thou wert new 
Old aqueduct! — fresh-built b}^ ancient skill, 
When but a waste of trees was yonder hill, 
And undisturbed the valley gold-ferns grew 
While the young isle was fresh with morning dew 
But now rank weeds thy broken arches fill, 
And thou art left alone — so lone and still — 
To dream of sights and forms long hid from view. 



One crossed thy grassy course the other day; 
Far, far below a tiny brooklet flowed 

5 



And whispered to thee in low sylvan tones. 
A tamarind tree grown wild once barred the road; 
And once he found an orchid 'midst thj^ stones — 
An orchid golden as a sunset ray. 

Bronze and Green. 

Dancing, glancing, swaying, playing, 

Shimmering, glimmering, brightening, lightening, 

Parting, darting, shining, twining, 

Glowing in the sunlight's sheen — 

Now green and bronze — now bronze and green. 

Bending down in bronzy masses — 
Turning, flashing, green as grasses; 
Mingling till no light between 
Pierces through the bronze and green. 

Now, reluctant, letting through 
Just a peep of cloud and blue; 
By-and-by, a little more; 
Then fast closing as before. 

Brightening, lightening, shining, twining, 
Parting, darting, beaming, gleaming. 
Dancing, glancing, swaying, playing 
Flashing, dashing, glittering, glowing — 
The starapple leaves in the wind are blowing. 
6 



The Light Between the Logwood Leaves. 

The light between the logwood leaves 
Out, in and out, its brightness weaves; 
And silver spangles fill the trees 
That change with every passing breeze. 

The light between the logwood leaves 
Grows mystic with the dusky eves; 
But with the morning sun's first beam 
A thousand splintered diamonds gleam. 

Now here, now there, like restless stars, 
The bits of light peep through green bars; 
A bright imprisoned band that grieves 
vShut close within the logwood leaves. 

Yet how can dancing beams be sad ?— 
They 're Bo-peep players, blithe and glad; 
Or else thy flickering glance deceives— 
Ah, light between tiie logw^ood leaves! 



Ferns. 

AlIv along the roadsides, 

Over rock}' walls, 
Hidden 'midst the bushes, 

Splashed by waterfalls, 
Where the island streamlets 

Sparkle on the ground. 
Deep in tangled gullies — 

There the ferns are found. 

From the spreading tree-fern 

With its leaves of lace, 
To the tiny filmy, 

All are full of grace; 
Ever}^ crumbling ruin, 

Every fallen stone, 
Softens into beauty 

B}' the ferns o'ergrown. 

Bright with golden powder, 

Touched with silvery sheen, 
Pink as shells of ocean. 

Decked in tender green — 
Star-leaves seed-embroidered, 

Daint}^ maidenhair — - 
O'er our lovely island 

Ferns are everv where. 




All Along the Roadsides" 



Star-Ferns. 



We wonder what becomes of fallen stars; — 
Perhaps those ferns that in our valleys grow 

Once burned high in the heavens, but were changed 
To brown-veined leaves as they fell lost and low. 



Bamboos. 

Great feathers waving 
Bright in the breeze, 

Light as the surf- spray 
On Southern seas; 

Up hillsides curving, 
Soft waves of green, 

Meeting in arches, 
Blue sky between. 

O, the deep shadows 

In dusky glades! 
Blending unending 

Green lights and shades; 

Plumes of green leaflets, 
Tossed by the breeze, 

Like wavelets breaking 
On Southern seas. 



'W 







" Plumes of Green Leaflets 



Song of the Coffee Field. 

In blossom-time such showers 

Of whiteness cloud the trees, 
That one might think a snow-storm 

Had blown across the seas; 
But by the spicy odor 

That fills the air, we know 
'T is but a fall of flowers 

And not of cold white snow. 

When later come the berries 

We watch them day by day. 
Until beneath their burden 

The branches bend and sway; 
Then forth we wander gayly 

The harvest bright to glean, 
While red as Northern cherries 

They glow amid the green. 

And when the fields forsaken 

Show har-s^est-time is past, 
And onh^ scattered berries 

Still linger on — the last, 
Though stripped of fruit and flowers, 

No touch of winter grieves; 
For chill winds have not taken 

The glossy, dark-green leaves. 



So whether flutter briglitly 

Sweet blossoms in the breeze, 
Or 'neath their weight of berries 

Bend low the laden trees — 
Each season has its beauty; 

And if but leaves are there, 
Some hint of promise lighth^ 

Is whispered through the air! 



To the Donkey. 

Patient little donkey! 

O 'er the dustj^ road 
To the busy market 

Carrying your load; 
Yams, bananas, plantains — 

In your hampers w^ide, 
While a little Quashie 

Proudly sits astride. 
And .sometimes you carry 

Quashie' s father too — 
(Poor, weak, fragile creature!) 

Bigger far than you. 
13 



Cunning little donkey ! 

Garbed in Quaker gray, 
Trotting so sedately 

In your passive way; 
Yet despite the meekness 

In those gentle eyes, 
You are shrewd, O donkey — 

Very worldly-wise! 
If your steps are too much 

Hastened by the stick. 
Then your docile manner 

Changes: — and you kick. 

Useful little donkey! 

A true friend you are 
When the human helpers 

Seem but few and far; 
And Jamaica's commerce 

You do more to aid 
Than some folk who wisely 

Chatter of our trade. 
With a shrewd, sly twinkle 

In your e3'e you walk 
Straight ahead — and get there, 

While they talk and talk. 

Noble little donkey! 
W^ould n't it be grand 
14 



If your lead were foUovved 
Throughout all this land! 

' ' Donkey for a leader ? ' ' 
Some say with a smile; 




Very Worldly-Wise" 



Yes — be like the donkey — ■ 

Try it for a while! 
Were we all as useful, 

Donke}^ as are you, 
Then would prospects brighten 

And our woes be few. 
15 



The Heart of the Island. 

He never has known the Island who never has watched the dew 
On leaves in the earl}' morning, before the gray sky is blue; 
Who knows not the little thatched houses with coffee groves behind. 
And feels not the glow of sunlight on white roads that ever wind. 

He never has known the Island who never as friend has seen 
The tiny white churches hidden far off in the hills of green; 
Who never at " Social meetings " has joined in the laughter gay, . 
And eaten buns with the children, and felt the joy of the da3^ 

He never has known the Island who never has truly known 
And felt with the simple people, as if the\' were of his own; 
Who never has talked with the woman bearing her market load, 
And heard the yam-diggers singing at night on a lonely road. 

He never will know the Island who feels no thrill at the roar 
Of the sea that beats around it and splashes the palms on shore; 
Who never can love the tangle of sea-grapes on the sand; 
But the Island's heart is open to him who can understand! 



i6 




White Roads that tver vvuici 



17 



Songs of Exile. 



The moving lights and shadows of the South, — 
The color-changes at the close of da}', — 

The shifting shades of green among the palms, — 
The slightl3^-varying tones of leaves at pla}-; 



The blending greens and bronzes — all the wealth 
Of color in the crotons' gorgeous hues; 

Ah, moving lights and shadows of the South! 
I tire of these clear, cold graj^s and blues. 



II. 

The landscape slowly fades away, 
The woods in the distance die; 

And slowly, strangely, amidst the gray, 
A warm touch steals in the sky. 

Where the maple stood a moment ago 

Is a tree with leaves of lace, 
And crimson blossoms that seem to glow 

Like flames in the sombre place. 



i8 



The Old Plantation Homes. 

They are passing — passing swiftly, the old plantation homes 

Those statel}^, spacious homes of long ago; 

And of their vanished beauty, little to-day we know; — 
The wanderer sees but fragments as he roams. 

Yet still some mansions of the past remain, 
With deeply carven walls and polished floors ; 
In cobwebbed corners or behind dark doors 

Sometimes still lurks a dim, mysterious stain. 

They stand, reminders of far-off delights 

When W^ealth and Ease went blithely hand-in-hand; 
Reminders of a time when our fair land 

Was but a plaj^ground for gay lords and knights. 

They are passing — passing swiftly, the old plantation homes ; 
Of glittering days gone by — the pageant and the show — 
Is left — a ruined arch, a gateway fallen low, 

A fort fast crumbling where the wild sea foams. 



19 



Rose Hall. 

Above the sea, across the plain, 
Through pale-green reaches of waving cane 
That rustle low like the coming rain — 
The white road leads by the gray stone wall 
To old Rose Hall. 

Weather-beaten and plain outside, 
Within, the moth and rust cannot hide 
The beauty of doors and staircase wide; 
And floor bright-polished as for a ball 
At old Rose Hall. 

The house was built long, long ago, 
As the careful finish and carvings show; 
And the handiwork was sure and slow; 
Else years gone by would have seen the fall 
Of old Rose Hall. 

A queer old woman with a broom 
Shows dusky stains in a certain room 
And tells you . . . the shadows darker loom 
While thrice-repeated you hear a call 
Ring through Rose Hall. 

You hear — if you 're one of the charming few 
That step not to ask — " A fact ? 't is true f " 
20 



If not — why, of course the stains look new, 
And the thrilling stories onh' pall 
About Rose Hall. 

You love the stairs — if 3^ou understand; 
The crumbling cornice — the archway grand 
As you look at the sea across the land 
Through the waving canes, 3^ou feel it all, — 
And know Rose Hall. 



Twilight. 

The gold, the blue, and the crimson 

Have paled and faded away; 
And the skies that were lately so brillian 

Are covered with clouds of gray. 

Out of my heart with the sunset 

The glow of the tropics dies; 
The gold and the blue and the crimson 

That shone in the Southern skies. 



At Mrs. Palmer's Monument. 

We watch the guardian spirit 

Hold genth' o'er thy head 
The never-fading garland, — 

And all the tales of dread 
Flee like a dream, fair lady! 

The marble's dazzling cold 
Makes far and dim those stories 

By harsh Tradition told. 

What though a faint blue circle 

Just stains the perfect white. 
And at its base the marble 

Is touched with crimson light ?- 
We heed not idle gossip 

Or half- forgotten tales, 
That gather gruesome meaning 

When heard as daylight fails. 

We cannot hate thee, lady. 

Here in this peaceful place, 
So near the altar's roses, 

The guardian spirit's face; 
Howe'er those ancient rumors 

And legends dark had birth,— 
Thy monument speaks only 

Of kindness and of worth! 




23 



Retrospect. 

The long, straight stretches of pahii- lined road, 
The donkey trotting beneath its load, — 
How real it seems to me! 

The glow of the poinciana trees, 

The bamboos like green plumes tossed in the breeze, 
Light as waves of the sea. 

The heavy scent of the noontide air. 
The broom-flowers' droop in the sun's hot glare, — 
The South 's all red and gold! 

The gray- walled works of the lone estate. 
The rusty boiler down by the gate, — 
So old, so old, so old. 

The cotton tree with its twisted vines, 
The mangrove swamp where the sun never shines, — 
Dusk}^ at height of da3^ 

What is the end of this endless strife? 
O, the days are stern when one's dream leaves life! — 
The South is far away. 



24 




" The Cotton Tree " 



A Picture — Unpainted. 



In the foreground a moss-grown stone trough 

Where horses no longer drink, 
And unchecked weeds and grasses 

Peep over the broken brink; 
Then far waste stretches of logwood ; 

In the distance a strip of gra}^ 
Where the ocean, like duU-hued silver, 

Shines in the dying da}- 
The red sky burns and flushes, 

Unanswered by sea below; 
And highest, dark clouds are glooming, 

Shot through with a sullen glow. 
25 



The Undertone. 

But hearing oftentimes 

The still, sad music of humanity. 

— Wordsworth. 

Beneath the brightness of the Southern day 
I seem to hear a dull, half-stifled moan; 

Beneath the mirthful sound of children's play 
A low, complaining note — the undertone. 

The far, faint cry of wounded slaves in chains; 

The struggle of some falling soul alone; 
The blood that darkens with its crimson stains 

A girlish hand — these are the undertone. 

Tlie sins and .sorrows of those far-off times 
Whose echoes are to us so faintly blown; 

The cruel deeds beneath the flowering limes 
(As fair as now)— these are the undertone. 

Beneath the brightness of the Southern day 
I seem to hear a dull, half-stifled moan; 

" Old nurses' tales! " "All nonsense! " do you say ? 
Ah, mind your words! Hark — hear the undertone! 



26 




When the Sunlight Touches the River. 

When the sunlight touches the river, and a bend that was lost to view 
In the shadows of dusky da3dight, springs from the haze of blue, 
Our eyes catch the careless motion, and dance with the dazzling gleam 
When the sunlight touches the river, and wakens the silent stream. 

When the sunlight touches the river, in the freshness of early da}', 
x\nd the sober path of the waters ripples and laughs in play. 
The soul comes forth from its shadows, forgetful of fancied wrong, 
For the sunlisfht touches the river, and wakens the heart with sone! 



27 



An Island Spring. 

From the cool rock-filters 

Many times distilled, 
With the mountain freshness 

And pure coldness filled, 
Comes a tiny trickle, 

Just a silver gleam, — 
This is the beginning 

Of an island stream! 

Winding on with many 

Sudden, wayward turns; 
Splashing as it passes 

Merrily the ferns; 
Dashing, half in fury. 

Half in boisterous play, 
'Gainst a mossy boulder 

That has barred its way. 

'Neath the lace of leaf- work 
By roseapples made, 

Flowing gently, softly. 
In the cool green shade; 

Now through arching bamboos- 
Then slow-gliding where 

Fragrant ginger-lilies 
Scent the evening air. 
28 



Lingering for a moment 

In a rocky pool, 
Watching soft-eyed cattle 

Drink the water cool, — 
Children filling bamboos, — 

Women washing clothes; 
Then with restless motion 

Onward still it goes. 

Soon it ceases, playing 

In a waterfall, 
Hearing not the voices 

Of the great deep call; 
Till some kindly river 

Takes it 'neath its wing, 
And flows seaward with our 

Little island spring! 



29 



Under the Roseapple Boughs. 

The play of light on the water — the mingled darkness and shine — 
The blending of real and vision where shadow and leaf entwine — 
The cool, clear green of the water where silently drink the cows, 
All in the hnsh of evening — nnder the roseapple bonghs. 

The network of bending branches that peep in the stream below, 
And sway with a wind-swept motion, silently, soft, and slow; 
The sky and the snn-flecked water — the shadows, the resting cows- 
The peace and the beauty of evening — under the roseapple boughs. 



30 




'oad VVi IT 1- 1- rti \ e< I Leu ve- 



in a Banana Walk. 



lyONG aisles made dusky by broad wind-frayed leaves 
That bend and arch the narrow pathway o'er 
Like green waves curving as they reach the shore. 
Some touched with yellow of the autumn sheaves — 
Not bright, but as a beam of sun that grieves 
Left lonely when its comrades shine no more. 
Like sunset rays that pierce a fretted door 
Throuo:h emerald lattice-work a dull lieht weaves. 



im 



31 



No sound is heard, no varying color seen, 
Save here and there a dash of daring red 
Where — flame of harmless fire in the grass — 
Some wilding lih- glows amid the green; 
Or from the cool, dim archwa}- overhead 
A polished leaf sways slowly as we pass. 



The Golden Table. 

(A Legend of the Rio Cobfe.) 

Sparki^ing, flashing, gleaming, glowing, 

Where no eye can see its ra3's, 
Rests the mystic Golden Table 

Dreaming dreams of olden days. 
'Neath the Cobre's silver waters 

It has lain for ages long; 
And an undertone of warning 

Mingles with the river's song. 

Just at noon (so sa3\s the legend) 

Comes the Table every day 
Softly to the river's surface. 

Where the yellow sunbeams pla}^; 
For one magic moment lingers, 

Then*sinks slowly out of sight. 
While its crj-stal prison shimmers 

In a cloud of burnished light. 
32 






mm 






,■ iWit' 'v ■ 'it 






,>^mm^^ 



^^^^: 






'*■ 'iA.-.vii. j*ir- -^^ 



r^ 




"The Cobre's Silver Waters' 



Since it sank that far-oif evening 

'Midst the lightning and the rain, 
Never man has found the Table; 

All his seeking has been vain. 
Still the jealous Cobre guards it, 

Safe concealed from human e3'e,— 
While it charms its golden captive 

With an endless lullab}-. 
33 



A Mountain Manse. 

Far up among the mountains, 

Reached b}- a path o'ergrovvn 
By ferns and tangled creepers, — 

An old Manse stands alone. 

Green hills and purple mountains 

Like guardians rise about; 
From two peaks in the distance 

A bit of sea gleams out. 

Within the yard a mango 

Spreads great roots gnarled and old, 
And tamarind trees their lace-work 

Of feather}' leaves unfold. 

Behind a veil of palm-fronds 

The vSh}^ Manse hides unseen, 
And peeps through breeze-blown branches 

Safe in its bower of green. 

The great world whirls forgotten; 

Here a charmed silence lies — 
While the old Manse stands dreaming 

Beneath the Southern skies. 



34 



Job's Tears. 

And be sat dowu atnoug the ashes. 

—Job ii. 8. 

If one dark ash-stained tear-drop in, its course 

Had been arrested b}' some magic force 

And crystallized into a polished bead 

It would have been like this gray, ashen seed; 

Which, with no flash of diamond, sheen of pearl, 

Seems jewel made for modest Quaker girl. 

A touch of Job's own rare poetic flame 

Had he — or she — who first conceived the name; 

And watched the wild plants, growing green and lush 

By marsh and stream, like Bildad's flag and rush. 

The world's great drama, fresh through countless years, 

Comes to us always when we see "Job's Tears." 



35 



Natural Bridge. 

A GIANT arch not made by human hands, 

But hewn by Nature from the solid rock; 

In vain the patient, waiting centuries knock 

Against the massive walls, and still it stands 

Above its river sparkling o'er the sands. 

Firm and unmoved b}^ time and earthquake shock. 

Far down below, gra}' wave-worn boulders block 
The river's path. Along the walls bold bands 
Of restless, twittering swallows fly about, 
Their music blending with the water's sound. 
Wee bird-heads from a thousand air}- nests 
Peep, filled with birdling wonder, shyly out. 
Dull muffled echoes dimly ring around; 
But 'neath the noise a mighty silence rests. 



3f> 



'm 




37 



At Daybreak, 

O THE freshness of the morning in the Sonth! 

The cool blue shadows underneath the hills; 
The purple haze that with elusive light 

The mist-encircled mountain-valley fills. 

O the freshness of the morning in the South! 

The palm-leaves quivering with their weight of dew 
The wakening sun that peeps dow^n, faintl}^ bright — 

The sky's cold gray just melting into blue. 

O the freshness of the morning in the South! 

The silence in the hush of opening day — 
Before the w^ork- sounds come to break the charm 

And still the music of the elves at play. 



38 




Nana. 



With the old homes are going 

The Nanas of past days, 
With their gay stiff-starched kerchiefs 

And dear old-fashioned ways; 
They disappeared with other 

Quaint things too good to last; 
And seldom now we see them — 

Those pictures of the past! 
39 



The strange " Anancy " stories, 

And legends weird and old 
Which after patient coaxing 

Were in the twihght told 
To breathless, wide-eyed children — 

We hardly hear to-day; 
A few faint echoes linger — 

The rest have passed awa3^ 



But in the days of plenty, 

When " Old Jamaica " flowed, 
And heavy, lumbering coaches 

Rolled o'er the dusty road, — 
When railway, street car, tourist, 

Were to the isle unknown, — 
Then each true household boasted 

A "Nana" of its own. 



The children came to Nana 

With every trifling tear. 
And feared no foe in armor 

When her strong arm was nea 
For childish ills no doctor 

Was torn from sleep at night; 
A cup of Nana's "bush-tea," — 

And all would soon be right. 



40 



At christenings and weddings 

She played a shining part, 
And every household function 

Owned Nana as its heart ; 
At balls she peeped through doorways 

To see " Young Missis" dance, 
And beamed if for a moment 

She caught the girl's bright glance. 

While all else changed around her 

She kept the same old place, 
Till like some faithful guide-post 

Became the kindly face; 
For to " Ole Massa's fam'ly " 

Her life was rooted fast : 
In fanc}^ we can see her — 

The Nana of the past! 



41 



Christmas in Jamaica. 

Soft snow-white bells bloom ever}- year 
As soon as Christmas-time draws near; 
And children b}^ the wayside stop 
To pluck the dainty " Christmas Pop." 

The sugar-cane comes out in bloom 
And thrusts aloft its silken plume; 
Kach little shrub dons garments gay 
In honor of the holida^^ 

Though the keen breath of Northern pines 
Is missing, 3'et, all draped in vines, 
Fair as its rival o'er the sea, 
The lignum-vitae makes our tree. 

x\nd on the Christmas evening bright 
The " Great-house " grand is full of light: 
While Christmas joy and glad good-will 
The dusky Southern faces fill. 

Each servant of the house is there — 
From Nana, dressed with Sunday care, 
To little Quamin, whose round eyes 
Are full of wonder and surprise. 

As " Father Christmas" to each hands 
The gift that most his need demands, 

42 



Some telling "local hit" he makes, 
At which the hall with laughter shakes. 

He says,—" Though of small use to-day 
My prancing steeds and jingling sleigh, 
A donkey and two hampers wide 
Holds well my store ; I like to ride. 

" I 've spent so many busy hours 
Looking for tempting fruit and flowers, 
Within the Christmas markets bright. 
To deck our Christmas tree to-night. 

' ' For I know Southern girls and boys 
Are just as fond of sweets and toys 
As those small rogues who used to try 
To snow-ball me as I flew by." 

The storied strains of minstrel's lute 
For many ages have been mute; 
But just as sweet to untrained ear 
The concertina that we hear. 

Many a joyous laugh rings gay 
From those wdio at "snap-dragon " play 
And many a finger in the flame 
Gets burnt as wilder grows the game. 
43 



To make the merry scene complete, 
Oft a quick sound of hurrying feet 
Is heard as blushing maidens go 
Past the huge bunch of mistletoe. 

For strange would seem a Christmas night 
Without that ancient parasite; 
And North and South must both bow low 
Before the reign of Mistletoe. 

Through open doors a faint perfume 
Of jasmine comes and fills the room: 
Some voice sings soft beneath the mirth — 
" Good- will to men, and peace on earth," 



1. c^ai 



44 




'The Little Fort 



At Robin's Bay. 

At Robin's Bay the copl, fresh scent of brine 

Is mingled with the sweet breath of the kine ; 

For in the quiet pastures cattle graze — 

Above the crags where foamy water plays — 

Around the fortress where the wild fio^s twine. 



Keep thy old ruined castle on the Rhine! 
The little fort unstoried sla^ll.be niine; 
All oflorified bv Fancy's eolden haze — 



At Robin's Bay 



45 



Though far away I see the bright waves shine, 
Or in the twilight watch the distant line 
Where white ships glide — the ships of other days; 
And hear the ocean, while the last sun-rays 
Touch the green almond with its arching vine — 
At Robin's Bav. 



An Eastern Note. 

TherK is an Eastern note within our land. — 
A foreign flower springing up alone 
Has, ere we knew it, in our garden grown; 
A blossom whose first breath of life was fanned 
In its far home on "India's coral strand." 
A throbbing minor movement not our own 
Lends to the South its weird elusive tone, 
Like strain of alien music in a band. 

A tangled mass of waveless, coal-black hair; 

A flash of silver on a brown, bare arm; 

Deep eyes like bits of star-strewn midnight sky. 

With head erect, a proudW distant air, 

And gliding motion fraught with subtle charm,- 

Like crowned queen the Eastern girl goes by. 



46 



Blinkeys. 

LiTTi^E brown-clad insects, so denuireh' drest, 
Those bright starr}^ hmterns hardly suit the rest 
Of 3^our simple costume ; you are Quaker maids 
Mingling costly jewels w^itli plain, quiet shades! 
But perhaps that dusky satin garb you wear 
Serves but as a setting for the lamps you l^ear. 

They are wondrous lanterns, and their mystic light 
With a clear soft brilliance penetrates the night ; 
Not like hard, cold diamond — softer, tenderer far; 
Like the glow^ of moonlight, or the evening star. 
If that liquid lustre could be crystallized, 
More than pearl or ruby would its worth be prized. 

When night falls around us, then your wee lamps glow 
In the trees' dark branches, on the ground below; 
You are busy, blinkeys, though 3'ou seem to play; 
You are " on for duty " at the close of day; 
And vour w'ork is simply— with unceasing gleam 
To make all this island like a fairv dream! 



47 



Night. 

Twilight brief is dying, 

And the shadows fall; 
From the still, dark bushes 

Comes the night-bird's call; 
Thousands of wee insects 

Start their evening choirs; 
On the dusky hillsides 

Glow the orange fires. 

Jewel-lights of blinkeys 

Sparkle all around; 
From the far-off highroad 

Slow winds bring the sound 
Of yam-diggers singing 

On their home- return; 
Deeper grow the shadows; 

Bright the fires burn. 

All the rounded curvings 

Of the mountains die; 
Close they stand, sharp-outlined 

'Gainst a painted sky; 
They are hills in vStageland — 

We are at a pla}' ; 
When this act is finished. 

They will fade awa3\ 
48 



Fair the scene, and life-like! — 

Now a sudden change 
Comes: a light is rising 

O'er the pictured range! 
Soft!}' plays the music 

(All will vanish soon; — 
While between the bamboos 

Peeps the tropic moon. 



49 



The Tourist. 

When the soft Southern breezes 

Hold a faint, distant hint 
Of that strong Northern tonic 

That gives the leaves their tint, — 
Then comes the Tourist to us 

Our sunny days to share; 
All brisk, alert, and smiling, 

And ga}' and debonair. 

He revels in bananas 

(A hand he calls a " bunch") — 
Eats them each da}^ for breakfast. 

For dinner and for lunch; 
Mistakes our Avocados 

For luscious Bartlett pears; 
Instead of gills gives shillings — 

Pays busmen dollar fares. 

A battered cutlass charms him; 

How pleasing to displa}^ — 
"A famous machete, blunted 

In many a bygone fray "; 
While happy rum-shop keepers 

Sell all their mildewed signs, 
And flaunt bright new ones, showing 

The same " old-world " designs. 
50 




He Revels in Bananas" 
51 



He buys cracked threepence soup-plates, 

And thinks his bargain rare, 
To get for half-a-dollar 

Such curious ancient ware; 
He "tips" the hicky native 

If he but lifts his hand: 
And brings a stir and sparkle 

To this old sleepy land. 

It 's simply a long picnic 

When, tired of Life's race. 
He conies to play a moment 

In this strange palm-girt place: 
He overlooks our failures, — 

Bears good-will toward all men: 
And when he sails, the breezes 

Sigh seaward, " Come again! " 



52 



The Glory of Jamaica. 

When first our mountains' purple across the waves was seen, 
And wondering eyes first watched it change slowly into green, 
Perhaps the weary sailors forgot their golden quest, 
As Fancy brought them pictures of endless peace and rest, 
That peace which calms the spirit, the restless heart-beat stills- 
The peace be^'ond all knowledge that rests upon the hills. 

Though here a crumbling ruin, and there a fort o'ergrown. 
Tell of the vanished splendor of times now little known, 
Still rise the fadeless mountains, as beautiful to-day 
As when Columbus saw them, mist-circled, far away; 
First sight to greet the native and thrill his loyal heart — 
The last to leave the vision as outbound ships depart. 

With rainbow lights of promise forever touched they stand, 

Like sentinels immortal to guard our precious land; 

The onh^ blight of winter the wooded summits know 

Is the morning mist around them like wreaths of Alpine snow. 

And the true heart of Jamaica with proud affection fills 

For the Island's greatest glory — her guard of noble hills. 



53 



The South to the North. 

Ah, something subtly sweet has left one's life 
When these encircling mountains fade from view, 
And all the palm-lined shore seems strange and new 
i\s outbound ship glides far upon the blue. 

The deep, bewildering scent of Southern flowers. 
The freshness of green palms that ever sway, 
The dazzling blue of skies at height of day, — 
Something has gone, when these are gone away. 

The song of mountain springs is rudely hushed 
By martial tones more harsh than trumpets' blare; 
A lingering fragrance of the flowers fair 
Is crushed by the sharp, cruel Northern air. 

Life seems a tract of moorland bleak and gray, 
With no gleam of the South's rich red and gold; 
Sharp, piercing winds the trembling limbs enfold. 
And all is outer darkness, gloom and cold. 



54 



The North to the South. 

When something leaves one's life — the heav}' scent 
Of Southern flowers, weighted down by dew; 

The sensuous sway of bending palms — the arch 
Of noonday skies, one broad expanse of blue ; 

The simple joy of living, unperplexed 

By life's rough battle in the world's mad glare; 

The low, soft sound of mountain streams, instead 
Of horns and fifes and nois}^ trumpets' blare — 

Then comes the stronger, fiercer joy of work- 
Hard fight and struggle 'gainst a powerful foe; 

The hail — the driving sleet — the piercing cold — 
The winter's chilling ice and blinding snow. 

The bitter tonic of the Northern winds 

Is kinder than the flowers' sweet perfume; 

And gentler than the Southern light and warmth 
Is all the cold, the darkness, and the gloom. 



55 



DEC 23 1904 



